


the osamu shirt situation

by d_fenestrate



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Domestic!Sakuatsu, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, One Shot, Sharing Clothes, Slice of Life, chaos you would expect with these two, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_fenestrate/pseuds/d_fenestrate
Summary: One should always double-check a shirt before putting it on. Sakusa Kiyoomi learns this the hard way.alt. a sakuatsu clothes sharing fic gone wrong
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 432





	the osamu shirt situation

**Author's Note:**

> welcome welcome! it is k!  
> here's the first part to a domestic!sakuatsu series. over the past month, i've unknowingly accumulated quite few works that are more than halfway complete that like capture various mometns of sakuatsu at peak domesticity. and when i polled on twitter a few weeks back about which one to post first, this one won out.   
> once again, i'm giving all my thanks to my wonderful beta, [nae](https://twitter.com/ohmiyamy) (Spiritscript on ao3), for helping me out with reviewing this fic. she's amazing and y'all should totally check her out!  
> so, here y'all go. i hope you enjoy this chaotic snapshot of sakuatsu on a lazy sunday morning!  
> 

Sunlight. Warmth. The quiet sounds of metal clinking in the distance. One after the other, these are all the sensory details Sakusa notices as he wakes up, struggling against the heaviness of his eyelids. It takes a while, and when his eyes do eventually open, Sakusa shifts and lays on his back. He stares at the lazy spin of the ceiling fan. In the meantime, his mind sluggishly reconnects to his body. 

From how high the sun’s perched in the sky, Sakusa reasons it is the afternoon. He follows it up with the reasoning that Atsumu is already awake, given how the space next to him is empty, the extra folds of their blanket tucked carefully around Sakusa. 

With great difficulty, Sakusa wills himself to move and separate the blanket from his skin and push it to the side, his body shivering instantly at the sudden chill. He stays on his back for a few extra moments, the motivation to wake up and roll out of bed oscillating between an extreme low and a meager high. 

With a swing of his legs and the planting of his feet to the cold floor, Sakusa is up and stretching, a yawn erupting from the back of his throat. Twelve hours of sleep in, and he is still weighed down by the numbing exhaustion circulating from his head to his fingertips. So it is one of _those_ days, Sakusa surmises. Thankfully, he thinks further, it is Sunday. 

The alarm clock above his dresser confirms his hunch and reads noon. Sakusa proceeds with his morning routine-- he brushes his teeth, washes his face, and combs his hair. 

A fresh pile of laundry sits in a nearby corner of their room, and Sakusa, feeling lazy enough to put no effort into his outfit for the day, reaches for a pair of shorts from his hamper and the shirt hanging off of the edge of Atsumu’s basket. It’s one of his old, color-blocked twin shirts that he and Osamu had once used to identify themselves when together. The shirt barely fits Atsumu, and on Sakusa it stretches weakly, the worn out threads falling and wrapping around the curves of his torso, the shirt barely staying intact. Sakusa doesn’t consider changing the top, having recently become far too keen to wear his boyfriend’s clothing, and makes his way down the hallway and towards the kitchen. 

Atsumu’s back greets Sakusa first. One of Sakusa’s oversized shirts hangs loosely on his figure, sagging a little extra to the right, leaving the tanned shoulder exposed. Then it’s his humming as the setter steps back to lift the pan and flick his wrist, sending the sautéed vegetables into the air arm dipping easily to catch the falling food. Atsumu repeats these motions for a few beats, keenly observing the color of the diced onions to note the overall progress in cooking. 

Sakusa waits another moment before making his presence known, an arm snaking around Atsumu’s torso and kissing his exposed shoulder. Atsumu’s humming takes on a pleased tone as he leans back and turns his head, returning the affection with a kiss of his own to Sakusa’s awaiting temple. 

“G’morning, Omi~,” Atsumu sings softly, elongating the last syllable. He returns his attention to flipping the vegetables. Sakusa grunts in response, and Atsumu laughs as the other takes a step back and turns towards the direction of their coffee corner. 

“You’re just in time for lunch. It’ll be done by the time you’re done with your coffee, Omi-ku—” 

Sakusa doesn’t pay much attention to Atsumu’s sudden silence, the whir of their coffee grinder somehow reminding him of the possibility of sleep and the exhaustion still circling through his veins. In his mind, Sakusa imagines a gleeful smile growing on Atsumu’s face at the sight of his own clothing on Sakusa. Even though the clothes sharing ordeal is by no means a recent occurrence, Atsumu is still caught off guard every time Sakusa chooses one of Atsumu’s articles of clothing over his own. As Sakusa stares at the endless grinding of the brown beans into fine, smooth powder, he prepares himself for a sly, suggestive comment from the other; an act that’s typically accompanied with an expression of pure mischief and pride. 

That is not what happens. What happens is there is a gasp, which is followed by a minor scream. A gasp and scream that startle Sakusa from his daze, an intense wave of fear and worry jolting any weariness from his body immediately. 

He turns quickly, frowning at the sight of a panic-stricken Atsumu with a hand on his mouth. 

“What’s wrong?” Sakusa asks, an edge of concern in his words. Atsumu shakes his head and brings his other hand away from the pan to point at Sakusa. The latter doesn’t miss the way Atsumu’s hand trembles in his movements. 

“Omi…” There is a tremble in his voice. 

Sakusa walks forward to crowd the other’s personal space. “Atsumu, what is wrong?” 

“Omi,” Atsumu whispers and meets Sakusa’s gaze with quivering eyes. “Why the fuck are you wearing ‘Samu’s shirt?” 

Sakusa blinks. 

“What?” 

“Your shirt,” Atsumu reiterates, his volume suddenly increasing. Sakusa winces slightly at the change. “Why the fuck does it say ‘Osamu’?!”

Sakusa frowns. That didn’t sound right. He heads for the mirror placed on the wall next to their dining table. Craning his neck around, Sakusa immediately makes a face at the name on the back. Sure enough, ‘OSAMU’ is written in cracked lettering. 

“I took this shirt from your laundry, ‘Tsumu, I didn’t think to che—” He freezes when he glances over at his boyfriend again. 

Atsumu is leaning over the counter with his head in his hands, fingers threaded through his hair, most likely pulling at the roots as they do when Atsumu is frustrated or panicking. At the moment, he’s doing the latter, and Sakusa’s face morphs into a cold expression of disapproval. 

“Atsumu, I’ll change the shirt, calm the fuck down.” 

“Omi, this is a disaster, you don’t _understand_ ,” Atsumu whines. “This is so _traumatizing_ . I will never let Osamu in this apartment again.” He stands up straight. “I’m going to _burn_ that shirt.” 

“Atsumu, if you don’t calm down, I’m not taking this fucking shirt off.” 

This freezes the hysteria. Atsumu’s eyes widen. “You _would not_.” 

Sakusa squints, the fogginess from his morning exhaustion slowly ebbing back again. Frankly speaking, despite the obvious motivations to do so, he’s too lazy in the moment to change the shirt. 

“Try me.” That shuts Atsumu up. 

When he returns from their room, with a proper ‘ATSUMU’ shirt on, he’s greeted with Atsumu’s expecting, eager gaze and a mug of freshly-brewed coffee. Atsumu smiles at the correction, pulling Sakusa in for a hug as the spiker reaches for the caffeinated beverage. 

“Better?” Sakusa mumbles against the edge of the cup. 

Atsumu hums, burrowing his head in the crook of Sakusa’s neck. “Much better.” He plants a kiss at the junction, smiling with a chuckle when Sakusa sighs in response, his body falling lax in Atsumu’s hold.

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah, hope you enjoyed that! as mentioned, i've got quite a few in the works and some more ideas for domestic!sakuatsu, so this'll be updated more and more in the future. haha, look out for that!  
> as per usual, you can check me out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/de_sociate) or [tumblr](http://de-sociate.tumblr.com)! it's a fun time :D. 


End file.
